First, I just want to say sorry for my hiatus. Second, let's jump right back into things, shall we?

I will be the first to tell you that when I tell my friends that I want to sit and watch a golf tournament, they look at me with a twisted up expression on their face, and I can read their minds as they think usually one of two of things... 1) "WHY?!" 2) "You're crazy, and that sounds painfully boring... but, okay?"

And this weekend, I'm sure most people thought the same thing when on Wednesday I proclaimed how unbelievably excited I was for the Masters to begin. It might be even more shocking because as a girl who calls New York City my home away from home, this weekend should have been all about the Yankees and Red Sox first series of this young baseball season. But I honestly had a hard time giving that my full attention. (My beloved boys in pinstripes dropping 2 out of 3 to the Sox certainly didn't help my interest.)

No, this weekend, I was glued to my television watching the best golfers in the world tackle what can only be described as one of the most beautiful stretches of land in the country, Augusta National Golf Course. And there were so many stories waiting to be told.

We'll start with the kid. Rory McIlroy, who many have named the next generation of golf, had owned the lead for the first 54 holes, and looked unflappable going into Sunday. But as many have said before, the Masters doesn't really begin until the back nine on Sunday. Unfortunately for Rory, that is where his run ended. Watching him collapse under the pressure was one of the most painful things I've ever had to witness. Golf is known as a game that is played on a five inch course: the space between your ears. McIlroy's course was a mess on Sunday.

And while Rory lost his touch, it seemed everyone else in the field found theirs. At one point, there were no less than 5 people in contention to take the green jacket. What seemed like a field where only a few could catch Rory, became one that was so wide open you literally had no idea how this one would end. It can be argued that the real winner of this 75th playing of the Masters was Augusta.

The run to the finish was a spectacular one. With so many players in contention, including three Australians who were vying to be the first Masters winner from the land down under, the play down the stretch was nothing short of spectacular. And Charl Schwartzel did something no one has ever done before, making birdie on the last four holes to take himself to -14 and secure the win.

But for me, the real story of this day has to be Tiger Woods. Love him or hate him, you cannot deny the things you saw from Tiger on this Sunday. Starting the day seven shots off the lead, he made a charge on the front nine to take a share of the lead at -10. He was in contention all weekend, and maybe if his round Saturday had gone differently, we would be talking about how Tiger had claimed his fifth green jacket. But we're not, and still his charge on the front nine is so much a part of what made Sunday a day for the history books.

To me, he started to look like the Tiger of old. The crowd's roars were deafening (something that surely young McIlroy heard loud and clear), the fist pumps were emphatic, dramatic, and most of all believable. Believable that he was finally feeling confident again. And that the swagger that seems to appear on Sunday's, each and every time he dons that red shirt, had finally returned. It was Tiger being Tiger. (Can we coin that phrase now? Since Manny has retired, it seems appropriate someone else continue it). And I wouldn't look for him to slow down any time soon. Look out rest of the world, Tiger has returned.